


Sail upon my Sea

by linndechir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Hair-pulling, Manhandling, Rough Sex, Scheming, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ADWD: Theon is the puppet king of the Iron Islands, Asha and Victarion the real power behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sail upon my Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Written for got_exchange on livejournal.

“You wanted to see me, nuncle?”

Victarion was standing by the window, his broad back turned towards her. He was wearing armour, as if it hadn't quite sunk in yet that they were at peace now. Or maybe he just preferred not to dwell on that; Victarion had always been more comfortable at war.

“I used to think that your brothers were born in the wrong order,” Victarion said without turning around, without even greeting her. He sounded distant, as if he was talking more to himself than to her, and only using her presence as an excuse to do so. “Rodrik was always more like me. Maron was Balon's true son.”

Asha stepped closer, but she didn't say anything. She barely remembered her two eldest brothers, who had died when she had still been a child, and even before that they had never shown much interest in their little sister. Her silence didn't seem to bother Victarion; even when she reached the window and stood next to him he didn't look at her.

“I heard of Rodrik's death first during the war. For a few hours I thought that the Drowned God had taken him to make sure that the right brother would inherit the Seastone Chair.” The rough sound that escaped Victarion's throat barely sounded like a laugh. “Later that day I heard that Maron had been killed as well, leaving only … Theon. A meek, simpering little boy, as useless as Aeron was before the war. ”

The disdain in his voice made Asha flinch, but she knew better than to appeal to Victarion's sense of compassion. Instead she smiled at him and joked, "Does that make me Euron?"

Victarion glared at her, never one to appreciate a good-humoured joke, least of all about the brother he had slain himself. The deed still weighed far too heavily on his conscience, although she doubted that he would laugh about it even ten years hence.

“You are Balon's daughter," he said so harshly that it barely registered as the compliment she knew it to be. "But Theon was weak even before the Starks took him. Maybe Balon could have made something of him, but he didn't get the chance.”

“Even if he had – what the bastard of Bolton did to him would have broken stronger men,” she said quietly. Every time she closed her eyes she saw her little brother in front of her, the broken teeth, the white hair, his mangled hands, the constant terror in his eyes. Asha was no stranger to pain, but she couldn't imagine the agony that Theon had endured, that he still lived through every day. She looked up at her uncle, tried to find comfort in the sight of his familiar face, his deep-set grey eyes, the thin line of his mouth. With her father dead and her last living brother as lost in madness as her mother, Victarion was the only true family she had left. “And you forget that Theon helped us get rid of the Crow's Eye.”

Victarion's mouth twitched, and for the first time since she had arrived he truly met her eyes.

“Theon's _help_ meant him being alive and Balon's son, much as he's an insult to his father's memory. If you had any love for him, you would put him out of his misery.”

Asha considered that herself every time she saw Theon struggling with his food, every time he stared at her with fear and confusion in his eyes because he hardly seemed to remember who she was. Who _he_ was. But coming from Victarion the words still stung, maybe because they were spoken with disgust rather than pity.

“I thought having one kinslayer in the family should be quite enough,” she said with a sweet smile. It was a low blow, when it had been mere days since Victarion had washed his brother's blood off his hands, but he deserved it. She saw the anger flashing through his eyes, the twitch in his right hand as if he barely refrained from striking her. She put her hand on his, raised the other to his cheek. Sometimes Victarion reminded her of a wild animal, quick to anger, but easily soothed if one only knew how to speak to him, how to touch him. He took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to calm down.

“Do I need to remind you that you helped me, little niece?”

Asha smiled. She had never quite shared her uncle's religious terror of kinslaying, not when it came to Euron Crow's Eye. She would have gladly killed him years ago if she had thought to get away with it.

“I did what we should have done at the Kingsmoot, nuncle. Get rid of him, and rule together.” She ran the back of her hand over his bearded cheek, and although he was tense, he did not pull away. It was hard to tell, but she thought his breath quickened a little. “The only difference is that Theon is king now, not you, but I never thought you would care much for a crown anyway. Everyone knows it is you who rules.”

 _You, and me_ , but this was not the time to remind him of that. Not when Victarion looked like he hadn't slept through a single night since Euron's death, not when he spent days staring at the sea as if he expected it to swallow him whole for his sins. If truth be told, she had done more ruling in the last week than her uncle. Victarion was not so far gone in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed, but he hadn't commented on it. He knew that their rule was shared, there was no need to remind him now. 

She kissed his cheek before she left, knowing that it would annoy him a little, but it also brought a faint smile onto his lips for the briefest moment. After all, if he was the only family she had left, he also had no one but her.

* * * * *

Asha hadn't exaggerated when she had said that everyone knew who truly held the power on the Iron Islands. The lords and captains might have accepted Theon as their king in name, but the disgust was plain on their faces whenever they saw him. There was pity, too; it was hard not to feel pity at the sight of so much pain, but the Ironborn had never been a gentle people, and they had neither time nor patience for weakness. Most had the sense not to say it around her, but she still knew that many shared Victarion's opinion that true pity would put an end to Theon's suffering. As they could do nothing about it, though, they proceeded to ignore him. Pretended not to see him on the rare evenings that Theon took his meals down in the great hall – he was as much a ghost here as when she had found him in the snow outside Winterfell. Nobody even had the heart to joke about the shy, plain girl who barely ever left Theon's side, not after the first lewd comment had only been met with a confused stare from Theon and a terrified whimper from the girl. Asha had tried talking to her a few times, but she knew even less what to say to her than to her brother, and the girl seemed afraid of everyone who wasn't Theon. Asha didn't like to admit it, but she felt as uncomfortable around them as everyone else did.

Not knowing how to deal with a king who looked like a broken old man and barely understood what was happening around him, the Ironborn simply behaved as if he wasn't there. They spoke to Victarion, seated at Theon's right or at the head of the table when his nephew was not well enough to attend, as if he was king himself, and if anything addressing him by the familiar title of Lord Captain simply helped them get used to the new situation. They observed certain formalities with Theon on his better days, but it was far too obvious that the king was in no state to make any decisions of his own. Victarion did not rule through his nephew, but in his stead. No puppeteer could pull on strings that had been torn, so he had simply pushed the puppet off the stage. If there was a puppeteer at all, it was Asha, pulling her uncle's strings.

It amused her as much as it angered her, sometimes, how she was almost as ignored as her broken brother, a woman seeming as unfit to rule as a mad cripple. She had the men's respect, no doubt, and she had Victarion's ear, but no one came to her with matters of politics or to speak justice. If anything she was only told more often now that it was long past time she found herself a husband – she had made sure Theon had declared the match Euron had forced upon her null and void – and for the first time she seriously considered it. Theon marrying and fathering an heir was out of the question, and Victarion was so reluctant to marry again that Asha could have easily ensured that her own son would rule some day, if that had been her wish. But she hadn't won the power of a queen in all but name only to submit to a husband, and instead she proceeded to find her nuncle a wife.

She had all the choice in the world, with the lords of the Iron Islands eagerly presenting their daughters to Victarion – never to Theon, although no word had been spoken about the extent to which he'd been mutilated. It was far harder to talk Victarion into the matter; although he saw the need for an heir, he was stubborn as a bull, and it took her weeks of cajoling before he agreed, reluctant and with a frown on his face that made even stout-hearted girls tremble when they met him. 

Asha had never been one for political schemes – there had never been a need for them back when her father had ruled with an iron fist – but she knew to be careful now. Knew to whisper just enough into her uncle's ear to have him make the right choice while still letting him believe that it was his own idea. Knew to pick a girl who was broad-hipped and pretty without being a beauty, strong and clever enough to give him children that would be neither weak nor dim-witted, but without the ambition nor the skill to weasel her way from Victarion's bed into his heart or, worse, his head. Asha's precarious position at Theon's left side had only made it more obvious to her how much she depended on Victarion, and she could not afford to share him.

So she whispered and schemed and was surprised to find that she was rather good at it, and although it made her miss simpler days, she felt rather proud of herself when she finally managed to find a girl that suited her needs and then to convince Victarion to marry her. He growled and glared, but the girl was pleasant and obedient, and eventually he submitted. Asha thanked the Drowned God for an uncle who had spent his life obeying orders, and who, for all his stubbornness, was far too used to bending to someone else's will. She simply needed to make sure it was her own will he bent to.

* * * * *

"Why is there a feast?" Theon asked again, seemingly unaware that she had already told him when she arrived. He looked a bit better after a few months back home – _home_ , she called it, but it was only her home; it hadn't been his since Ned Stark had taken him away to Winterfell, and she wondered if Theon would ever call any place home again. But at least he wasn't quite so skinny and frail anymore, the wounds on his body had healed as far as they would ever heal, his face had regained some flesh and colour. He seemed to know who he was on most days, recognised her and Victarion, and sometimes he would even say something he remembered from his childhood, or start telling her about Winterfell and the Starks, but he rarely ever made it past a few sentences, then his eyes became unfocused again and he fell silent. The few things Asha told him about what was going on in the realm and on the Iron Islands didn't seem to register with him at all; he lived in his own world, in a past full of pain and regrets and with no thought for the future.

"Our uncle's wife is with child," she explained and looked back out of the window while the girl – Jeyne was her name, that much she knew, if not much else – helped Theon dress. She was quiet as a mouse, never even met Asha's eyes. Not that Theon did very often. 

"He must be pleased," Theon offered when he realised that Asha was waiting for a reply, but in a confused tone as if he wasn't sure what all of this had to do with him.

"He is." Asha scowled. It was more complicated than that, but Theon was not the person to complain to. Her problems and worries were so out of his reach that she might as well have been talking to empty air. And what would she have told him anyway? That she had been gone from Pyke for two weeks to talk to various other lords and that she couldn't help but wonder if anything had changed in her absence? That her uncle had stopped sharing her bed since his wedding night and that she was starting to wonder if taking a husband of her own wouldn't have been a smarter choice than giving him a wife? The thought made her laugh. Looking down she could see Aeron by the bank of the ocean, talking to some of his drowned men, and imagining _his_ reaction to such godless behaviour only amused her more.

She knew that her influence over Victarion did not only depend on those nights they used to share – she would have been far too proud to sell herself like that, no matter how much she enjoyed the strong grasp of Victarion's hands on her hips and his bruising mouth on her throat. But men were men, and they had a tendency to be far more amenable if they were kept happy. She wondered if this was what wives felt like when their husbands ran to whores, and that thought made her seethe with anger. The only other man she had ever sought to please had been her father, and all she ever had to do for that was to be herself, determined and headstrong and loyal. For all his steadfastness Victarion was moodier, and where she had been Balon's daughter, she was more a woman than anything else in Victarion's eyes. And women were far more easily replaced than daughters.

She was still smiling humourlessly by the time Theon finished dressing, quiet and uncomfortable and looking at her like he was hoping she'd tell him to stay here instead of taking him down to the feast. Asha was half of a mind to do just that and spare him the discomfort and humiliation of men either staring at him or trying not to, but she knew that even a king without power had to show his face every now and then.

But it was Victarion she watched closely during the feast. She was relieved to find that, despite the happy news, her uncle's eyes were still rarely on his wife, who was seated by his side with a content but demure smile on her face. He was polite enough to her when she excused herself to retire later in the evening, shortly after Theon had left, but he didn't follow her, stayed to speak to his men, and his eyes strayed again and again to Asha. 

Dawn was already looming at the horizon by the time Victarion finally left the feast, and Asha followed him quickly, pleased when she realised that he made his way to his own bedchamber. She thought he hadn't noticed her, and gasped in surprise when he whirled around and grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt, like an unruly child that had been caught sneaking around at night. She was grateful he didn't slam her into a wall, just lifted her up a little until they were face to face. His breath smelt of mead, but his eyes were clear; he was far from drunk.

"Anything you want, little niece?" Victarion snarled. He didn't seem angry, merely annoyed that she had tried to sneak up on him. 

"Why, I haven't seen you in a fortnight, nuncle, and I barely found a moment to speak to you at the feast. I've missed you." She sweetened her words with a smile, that slightly mocking smile she knew drove him mad. And he didn't disappoint, tightened his grip on her to drag her the few steps down the corridor to his chambers. She almost fell when he pushed her into the room, but the moment he had bolted the door his hand was back on her, grabbing her arm.

This time he did shove her into the next wall, his body hot against hers. No armour today, just a few layers of linen and leather between them, and she shivered. It had been too long since she'd had him, two months, and she felt humiliated for even remembering that. And yes, there had been other men, but most of them didn't really know what she wanted, were either too careful or too selfish. Except for Qarl, but she didn't want to think of their last time together just a week ago; it had been good, it always was, but it had felt different than usual, as if he knew that what had been between them once had changed, that she wasn't just his captain anymore, free to come and go as she pleased. She banished that thought from her mind; if she kept thinking about it, she'd only become as morose as her uncle was half the time.

Asha looked up at Victarion, and she smiled when she saw the frustration and hunger in his eyes, as always when he tried so very hard not to want her. His hand bruised her arm, the other pushed against her chest – just above one breast, not quite cupping it, but too low to be an innocent touch.

"I can see you've missed me, too," she chuckled, watched as shame made him lower his eyes, as if he hadn't fucked her dozens of times before, as if this wasn't a familiar game by now. Victarion still didn't say anything, didn't move, just held her there and could neither bring himself to continue nor to stop, and so she pushed a little harder.

"Don't you enjoy your little wife, nuncle?" She squirmed in his grip, although she was under no illusion that she could actually evade him, and brought her free hand up to his shoulder.

"I didn't marry her for my enjoyment," he snapped back, and she should have known this was a sore spot with a man who had had too much bad luck with wives to get attached to them. For all that he had spent the last months fucking his wife, he seemed as desperate and hungry as she felt, looking at her again as if he wanted to devour her whole.

"She really doesn't seem to be an awful lot of fun, does she?" Asha laughed and slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt. She squeezed the thick muscles of his shoulder before her fingernails clawed into the skin, drawing a strangled groan from Victarion's lips. "Just lies there and takes it, waiting for you to be done."

As if to mirror her touch his fingertips dug into the soft flesh of her breast, hard enough to bruise. She realised suddenly that she hadn't seen a single bruise on his wife in the two months since the wedding, not on her wrists, not on her face, nor had she ever flinched away from him in fear. So he was gentler to her then; not tender, Victarion had about as much tenderness in him as he had compassion, but still careful not to injure her. The realisation brought a smile to Asha's face. She liked the thought that Victarion didn't treat her like a soft woman who couldn't take his strength, but, maybe, more like an equal.

"Did you come here to mock me?" His face was so close that she could feel the scratch of his beard against her cheek. He smelt cleaner these days than during the war, less of sweat and blood, and he bathed more frequently now that he spent most of his time on Pyke and not on the _Iron Victory_. His smell was as familiar as that of the ocean itself, it reminded her a little of her father, but that thought didn't bother her. He smelt of _home_.

"I told you, nuncle, I missed you." It wasn't even a lie, because she had indeed missed him. Had missed the growl that rumbled in his chest when his desire was slowly quashing his shame. She had missed the heavy weight of his body against hers, so large and broad that he felt like a wall between her and the world. She had missed the feeling of quivering muscles and barely restrained strength, and the thrill of power at the knowledge that all his power was, ultimately, hers. That _he_ was hers.

Asha tilted her head until she could fit her mouth onto his, always more biting than kissing. She felt his hesitation, felt him tense up a last time, like a bowstring the moment before it's released, and then he crushed into her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, his hand finally cupping her breast in a crushing grip, his thigh wedging itself between her legs. She didn't have the patience to pretend to resist; games could wait until the next time, when she was less desperate to have him.

He had her out of her breeches and up against the wall in no time, both of them still dressed otherwise, her legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her. It was too sudden, too hard, too much, and it was just how she liked it from him. Victarion could fuck her every night and still make it feel every time like he had thought about nothing else for a year, like he had never wanted anything more than this. He refused to meet her eyes, refused to say a single word while he was inside her, but his hands on her thighs and hips, his mouth biting her bottom lip bloody told her all she needed to know.

She scratched and bit as good as she got, threaded her fingers through his already dishevelled hair, untied it so she could wrap the long strands around her fingers and pull. He groaned, hips jerking erratically, but he let her pull his head back, baring his throat. There was something so simple, so submissive in that gesture that it made her shudder, and it didn't take much more after that. Her teeth sank into the hard muscle on the side of his neck when she came, drawing a feral snarl from his lips and a thrust so hard it made her feel like he wanted to break her in half. 

She kept clinging to him, trusting him to hold her even as he spilt inside her, and to put her down carefully when the tension and strength seemed to seep from him. Asha slid down to the floor, her legs stretched out. She looked up at her uncle, then grabbed his hand to pull him down with her. 

They sat quietly for a minute, backs against the wall, Asha's fingers still encircling Victarion's wrist to keep his hand in her lap. She turned her head to lean against his shoulder, glanced at his broad chest where she had ripped his shirt open, rising and falling as his breathing slowed down. He looked tame now that he was tired, and she liked that look on his face almost as much as the hunger before.

"You think I've forgotten," Victarion said after a while. His voice was rough and still breathless, but he seemed calm, and if anything even more sober than before.

"Forgotten what?" She had to twist around to look up at him, just in time to see a small smile flash over his face before it disappeared again.

"Our agreement." Asha didn't know what to reply to that, so she waited for him to explain. Victarion was quiet for a minute, then shrugged. "I never understood why my brother raised you the way he did, but I'm not such a fool that I still think I could change you now. You served him well, and you'll serve me well."

"You mean, we'll serve each other well, nuncle." She smiled, but she made sure her voice sounded firm. Victarion lowered his gaze, down to his hand on her thigh, where her fingers were wrapped tightly around his wrist. Her hand looked tiny on his thick forearm, and yet he made no move to pull away. It was as much of a concession as she would get from him, he was far too proud for more. So she resisted the urge to remind him that he had served Balon for far longer than she had and that he should therefore serve her just as well, and simply reached up with her other hand to run her fingers once again through his tangled hair. 

He inclined his head immediately, as if to give her easier access, until his forehead bumped against hers. Asha frowned a little, but with the thought of her father still on her mind, she finally understood. Remembered that the only physical sign of affection she had ever seen between her father and her uncle had been just like this, Balon's hands in Victarion's hair, a lingering caress followed by a brotherly squeeze of the shoulder. She had to bite back a smile for fear of angering him, but she kept her hand in his hair, and he stayed still under the light pressure of her fingers.

And Asha realised that she had been a fool to worry so much. For all his brooding Victarion was a practical, dutiful man with as little ambition as the girl she had picked for him. He might complain about Theon and mourn Balon, wreck himself with guilt over Euron's death, and distract himself with his obedient little wife and the promise of sons; but Asha realised that none of that would keep him from being by her side when she needed him, just like he had always been by her father's. He was too proud to be seen serving a woman, but all that meant was that she had to be more subtle than Balon. And while her own pride wanted nothing more than to be _seen_ as his equal, the difference between her and her uncle was that Asha could swallow her pride and, if necessary, endure the occasional humiliation.

With a smile she pressed Victarion's hand against her thigh. After all, her uncle would always make it worth her while.


End file.
